Murder at Hogwarts
by SekushitheSilver
Summary: This is the first in the series. Read it if you haven't already.


Note: All characters, places, creatures, etc. belong to J.K.Rowling.  
  
  
  
  
Murder at Hoqwarts  
By Nickthesilver  
  
  
  
"I think I'm going to be sick," Hermione said, holding her stomach. She turned away from the grisly sight on the floor, and heaved. Bile splattered the floor, and she vaguely remembered the delicious turkey sandwich she had for lunch. She felt a friendly hand on her back, and turned to see Harry comforting her.   
"Its all right," Harry said, gently stroking her spine, "I know how you feel."  
'Like hell you know how I feel,' she thought, as she heaved and emptied her stomach again, 'You weren't as close to him as I was, and you didn't just puke all over in front of anyone.'   
Harry looked back at the dead boy on the floor. Teachers and Aurors (who had arrived shortly after the school found out) were examining the mangled body on the floor. Many of its bone were broken, and blood covered it, and the floor around it.   
Neville was dead.  
Harry was the one who was handling the death best. Hermione had cried-then thrown up- when she found out, and Ron just stood off to the side, staring at his dead friend.   
'The thing that really disturbs Harry,' Hermione noticed, 'is the writing on the wall.'  
Above the body was a poem, written in Neville's own blood. It read:  
  
This was the first, so I have said,  
All of you, soon will be dead,  
If not soon, then not too late,  
With my blade you have a date.  
The next one dies, without a fight,  
Look for the body tonight at midnight.  
  
Every time Hermione read it, it sent shivers up her spine. She was thinking the same thing that Harry was thinking; 'this person uses a knife, not a wand.'  
"You kids may go back to your houses now," Professor McGonagall said sadly, walking over to them, "There's nothing else to see here." The three of them nodded their heads, and began the long walk back to the Gryffindor common room.   
  
***  
  
"Who do you think did it?" asked Harry later that night, "Obviously not Voldemort, since no magic was involved." Hermione nodded her head in agreement, as she stared blankly into the fire on the mantle.   
Ron had already gone to bed earlier, so Harry and she were left alone, discussing the death of their friend. Hermione never knew how much she liked Neville until he died. She always took him for granted, and she regretted that now. She wondered why Harry was taking the death so well, then remembered how much death Harry had seen. She knew that Harry's tears would all come out tonight, while he was alone in bed.   
She reached her hand over, and touched his hand gently. He took it, and held it close. They looked into eachother's eyes, and held the other's gaze intently. Hermione suddenly didn't want Harry alone in bed; she wanted him with her. She leaned close, and, just as their lips were brushing, and Hermione felt an exhilaration that she had never felt before, a piercing scream racked the air. It ceased their kissing immediately, and both of them stood up in surprise.   
Dean Thomas thundered down the stairs from the boy's room, yelling, "HE'S DEAD, HE'S DEAD! OH GOD, HE'S DEAD!" Dean ran right past the couple standing awkwardly in front of the fire, as if he didn't know they existed.   
Harry grabbed him before he could bound through the portrait hole, though, and yelled in his face, "WHO'S DEAD? WHO'S DEAD, DAMNIT?"   
This seemed to knock Dean back to his senses, and he yelled, "RON!" He shook Harry off and jumped through the hole to get help. Harry and Hermione both looked at the clock that hung above the fireplace.   
Midnight, exactly.   
"NO!" screamed Harry as he hurtled toward the stairs that led to where his friend was. He took the stairs three at a time, and burst through the door to the room. Hermione was close behind.   
When she reached the room (several seconds behind Harry) she saw Ron. He was lying on the bed, naked. His arms and legs were bent horribly in all the wrong directions. His torso was slashed with a knife in several different places, and his intestines were spilled all over the bed and floor. Blood spoiled his sheets and pillows. The only thing that hadn't changed about Ron was his hair; it was red as ever. In fact, the blood made his hair redder.  
Harry stood at the foot of the grisly bed and stared at his dead friend. Tears streamed down his face, but he did not sob. If Hermione had anything left in her stomach, she would have thrown it up, but instead she cried. She cried for herself, she cried for Ron, but most of all, she cried for Harry. He hid a lot of the pain that he was feeling now.  
"This was the last I will kill today, watch out tomorrow, 'cause it's no hay-day." Hermione lifted an eyebrow at Harry's rhyme. He glanced at her, then pointed to some writing on the footboard of the bed. The rhyme he had just recited was written on the board, in Ron's blood.  
  
***  
  
"Someone in this school is killing people," Dumbledore said to the school, later that morning, "and I intend to find out who."   
An emergency meeting was called in the Great Hall, and Dumbledore was not his usual, jovial self. The twinkle in his eye was replaced by a fire that was only matched by Harry's own anger. Harry sat at the Gryffindor table, with Hermione futilely trying to comfort him. Hermione noticed Harry's fist clenching and unclenching, and knew that he was not hearing or seeing anyone in the room. She wasn't as angry as he was, but she was just as sad.  
"And so, I have decided on a course of action that will flush out the killer. From this very room!" Dumbledore emphasized these last words by pounding his fist against the table with every syllable. The old wizard pulled his wand from the sleeve of his robe, and began tapping it against the table. "It's called the 'Guilty-Finder'. It's a very difficult and complicated spell. Once performed, the person-or persons-guilty of the crime specified will stand forward and admit their deed." The whole room grew silent; all had their eyes on Dumbledore.   
Hermione noticed that a large, black dog had entered the room, led by Hagrid. 'Strange,' thought Hermione, 'I didn't know Sirius was here.' She pointed the dog out to Harry, and he waved at it. Sirius didn't even acknowledge that his godson existed. Hermione noticed that the dog had a small bit of foam on the corners of its mouth.  
"Now," exclaimed Dumbledore, raising his wand, "prepare yourselves, Crezphelius Dahm Morderdio!"  
A bright light enveloped the whole room, and Hermione felt a strange sensation in her stomach. The light slowly faded away and left all the students dazed and confused, except for Harry. He looked intently around the room for even the slightest bit of guilt. He found none. A long while past without anything happening. Everyone regained their senses, and were now looking for the killer.   
Just when Hermione began to get the feeling that the killer wasn't in the room, Sirius shifted. He convulsed then slowly transformed into his human form. Everyone gasped in surprise.   
"I ...did...it," the bedraggled looking man struggled to get the words out as more foam and spittle came from his mouth, "I ...did...it...because...I...I'm...rabid." His body contorted as if he was fighting something within himself. "I cont-...contracted...it from a...local dog...awhile back. Ev-...ever...since then I...I've had the urge to-..." he stopped mid-sentence and pulled a knife from the inside of his overcoat. He flipped it into the air and caught it by the blade.   
Everyone had their wands out, but no one was quick enough. In a second Sirius had thrown his knife in Harry's direction. Harry dove out of the way just in time, but Hermione didn't. The curved blade buried itself into Hermione's sternum. Her eyes grew wide as she fell to the floor, knocking her chair over. "Harry..." she whispered.  
"NO!" Harry screamed as he stood up, "NOOO!" Harry turned and pointed his wand at Sirius. "Avada Kadavra!" a stream of green light flashed from Harry's wand toward Sirius.   
At the same time, three other green streams of light flew toward Sirius: one from McGonagall, one from Snape, and one from Dumbledore. The four curses slammed into Sirius at the same time and sent him flying backwards, into the doors to the Great Hall. The enormous doors were ripped from their hinges, and splinters of wood flew in all directions. Sirius's skin was ripped from his bones before he even left the ground. A trail of blood traveled from where the murderer was originally, to outside the Great Hall, where a mass of blood, gore, and smashed bones lay.  
Harry crawled back to where Hermione lay, and took her head in his arms. He cradled her gently and rocked her back and forth, as tears of grief stained both his and her face.  
  
***  
  
"We can't find the body, Headmaster," McGonagall reported, an hour after.  
"Well, look harder!" snapped Dumbledore, as he stared at Harry, still rocking his dead friend, "It couldn't have just got up, and walked away after what we did to it!" The tired professor nodded her head, and went back to looking for something she'll never find.   
Dumbledore had noticed how tired she and Snape got, after the spell that they cast, but Harry didn't seem tired at all. Even the old wizard felt a little fatigued after a spell of that magnitude, but Harry didn't seem tired at all, just sad.   
'That is an amazing boy,' thought Dumbledore, as he scratched his chin, 'I just hope he can make it through this kind of depression intact.'  
  
***  
  
Harry felt terrible.  
Both of his best friends were dead, 'one because of me,' so he thought. 'And me, killing my godfather.' More tears fell from Harry's eyes. He brushed his friend's hair from her lifeless eyes, and laid her head gently to the floor. He closed those once loving eyes, and gazed at his wand. He lifted it, and, pointing it at his own chest, began the incantation, "Avada..."  
  
***  
  
A hundred miles away, a dark, robed figure laughed triumphantly.  
  
FIN  
  
  
  
  
  
Note: Read the sequels.   



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